


if terror falls upon your bed, and sleep no longer comes (remember all the words I said)

by sarcastic_fina



Series: Be Still [2]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Suicidal Themes, aftermath of Major Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[<b>sequel to</b>: "<i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1122411">be still</a></i>"] Felicity's death leaves a fractured Oliver in its wake; this is the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if terror falls upon your bed, and sleep no longer comes (remember all the words I said)

**Author's Note:**

> **Music** : [Be Still - The Fray](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vtp-p7qFI2I)

_When darkness comes upon you_  
 _And covers you with fear and shame_  
 _Be still and know that I'm with you_  
 _And I will say your name_

He dreamt of her.

Of her smile and her laugh and that stubborn way she set her chin when she disagreed with him. He dreamt of pink lipstick and blue fingernails and dyed blonde hair. He dreamt of her hand reaching for his and her fingers tapping at keyboards. Of the way she said his name and how she stood up, hands on her hips, ready to argue with him until he admitted defeat. He dreamt of blue eyes and the catch in her throat when he walked back into the foundry injured. Of her hands fluttering to his face and her arms around his neck as she hugged him.

He dreamt of those last moments; of her fingertips scrubbing down his cheek and her hand pressed to his neck.

He dreamt of her and he woke three times, confused and scared and drugged out of his mind, screaming her name as he struggled to get off the hospital bed. They sedated him twice before finally using the restraints, telling him it was for his own safety, that he had stitches and they didn't want him to pull them,  _again_.

He saw her when he closed his eyes and wished he never had to open them.

* * *

_She was sitting on a couch in his den, a glass of red wine balanced on her knee, her head cradled in her hand as she smiled at him._

_"You look happy," she said, studying his face._

_"I am. I'm with you."_

_She laughed under her breath. "Since when do I make you smile like that?"_

_He shuffled across the couch, closer to her, so she was nearly pressed to his side. "Since always." He reached for her glass and plucked it from her fingers, placing it on the table before he took her hand and held it in his. He rubbed his thumb over and around her knuckles. "I didn't get to say a lot of things…"_

_"You didn't have to."_

_He frowned, staring at her hand in his a moment. "I should have."_

_She shook her head. "I knew."_

_He raised his head to meet her soft, knowing gaze. "Felicity…"_

_She detangled their fingers and reached for his face, her hand pressing lightly against his cheek. "Do you remember your promises?"_

_He covered her hand and held it close, nuzzling into her touch. "I promised to keep you safe."_

_"Oliver… What happened to happy stories, huh? And letting Digg help you?"_

_His brow knotted tightly. "I could stay here… with you." He squeezed her hand as his shook. "I'm happy here. I'm happy with you."_

_She rubbed her thumb under his eye as a tear slipped free. "No more running away."_

_He let out a shuddering breath and stared at her. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."_

_She leaned forward, until their foreheads were pressed together. "I'll never leave you." She kissed him softly, a pass of her lips over his. "I'm yours."_

_"You're mine," he breathed against her lips._

_She whispered, "Always."_

_He stared into her eyes and promised, "Always."_

* * *

His eyes were dry when he peeled them open. His vision blurry as he stared at the ceiling, watching each square slowly become clear. He blinked, a stinging behind his lids, and took stock of his body. There was a dull ache in his side; the painkillers were wearing off. His body felt heavy, weighed down; his ankles and wrists were strapped tight. He'd torn one of the restraints off the last time he woke up; apparently they replaced it.

There was a beeping, steady and irritating, just to the left of him; a heart monitor not unlike the one they had in the foundry.

Noise, voices, distant and foggy at first, until slowly they began to leak through the haze.

"Are the restraints necessary?"

"Mrs. Queen, I'm not sure you understand… We're recommending that you put Oliver under psych evaluation."

"I understand that he was wounded, and that being attacked like that could be traumatizing, but—"

"Mr. Queen carried a young woman in with him. A… Felicity Smoak? She had already… She didn't survive."

"Oh God…" Her voice muffled, as if her hand was pressed to her mouth.

"He's woken up three times, once while he was still in surgery, and he physically tried to fight off everyone around him. They've repeatedly had to sedate him and when they try to calm him down, he doesn't listen. He… hasn't said anything but her name. My concern is that, after everything that happened on the island, this may have been… one trauma too much."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying Oliver may have suffered a mental break. We won't know for certain until he's awake and lucid, but… I would highly recommend you seriously consider you consent to having him put on psych watch…" The doctor sighed. "May I ask what type of relationship he had with Miss Smoak?"

"I… She was his assistant. His friend, I think. I don't… They seemed close, but he didn't share any personal details."

"Mr. Queen was listed as her emergency contact. I'm afraid the only family she has that we know of is a sister in South Africa. We can't seem to get in contact with her."

"I can talk to someone at Queen Consolidated, see if there's anything in her records," Moira offered.

"That would be helpful, thank you."

"Of course." There was a pause then, before, "Doctor, what… what condition was he in when he arrived?"

"He suffered severe blood loss due to a stab wound on his right side, there were contusions on his fists from what we assume were in defense of his life earlier in the night."

"And… mentally? What…  _state_  was he in?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "The head nurse in the emergency room said that he was hostile and refused to allow them to take Miss Smoak or see to his injuries. They were concerned both for their safety and his, and made the decision to sedate him… He struggled when they took Miss Smoak from him. He was very… emotional and distraught. When they told him they were going to help him, he told them it was too late."

Moira let out a shuddering breath.

"Mrs. Queen?"

"It is  _not_ too late," she told him emotionally.

"I only want you to be prepared."

"For what?  _Exactly_."

There was a pause before he answered, "Your son may not come back from this."

"They told me that once before, doctor. I didn't believe it then and I won't believe it now."

"I understand that. I also understand that no one is certain what happened on that island except for Mr. Queen. But we do know what happened here. Mr. Queen and a person he cared for deeply were attacked in the Glades, he was severely injured and from what the police have informed me, he carried her from where they were attacked all the way to this hospital. At some point during that journey, she died in his arms, and he continued to walk with her until he was here. Now, I don't know what the relationship between them was, but I do know that your son fought off one of our strongest sedatives four times and the only thing he wanted, the only person he wanted to see, was a woman who is currently in our morgue…" He sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, I can only advise that you take precautions. The restraints will stay on until the staff here are certain that he is not a danger to them or himself. When he is no longer deemed that, and he is healthy enough to return home, you will have to decide if his mental health needs to be assessed."

"I understand… Thank you."

"Of course. If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate."

A few seconds of silence passed before footsteps could be heard walking away, and then the door creaked as his mother stepped into the room. She moved toward the bed and Oliver closed his eyes so she wouldn't see he was awake. She moved closer to him, resting a hand on his, and squeezed. He heard her breath hitch as she inhaled, and then her hand was on his cheek, stroking a thumb around his eye.

"You're going to be okay," she told him softly. "Do you hear me, Oliver? You are going to be okay."

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't lean into her touch. He didn't squeeze her hand.

He waited until she stopped, until she let him go, and took a seat in the chair beside his bed.

He listened to the beeping in the background, his steady heartbeat filling every dark corner of the room, a terrible reminder that he lived. And he started counting: _one… two… three…_  He thought of when they met, of how her babbling had caught him so completely off-guard that he'd had no choice but to smile. He thought of how that still happened when she was trying to get control of her brain-to-mouth filter. Tears swam in his eyes and he sucked in a breath, holding it at the back of his throat as he fought against the flood of memories, of all the little things she'd said and tried to take back.

 _One, two, three_.

"Oliver?"

He stared at the ceiling, his face turning red with the pressure of holding his breath and fighting against the memory of her, angrily telling him that she didn't want to be his executive assistant; that she liked spending her nights with him, but it wasn't what she'd been trained for.

"Oliver, you have to breathe," his mother ordered him, her hand on his chest. " _Breathe_."

But he didn't, he gritted his teeth and he stared at the ceiling, a vein throbbing in his forehead, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, and listened to her voice in his head.

_And I will stop in five, four, three…_

His vision began to blur and his chest ached, but he pressed his head back against the pillow and fought against the desperation to inhale.

"Oliver," his mother shouted, her eyes glazed with tears as she forced him to look at her, to see how worried she was. " _Breathe_ , please…  _Please_!?"

He stared at her, some distant part of his mind recognizing her, while a much more fractured part just wanted her to go away, to leave him alone.

And then something passed over her face, her eyes narrowing, and she shook her head. "Do you want Felicity, Oliver?"

He blinked at her, his brow furrowed.

"I'll get her for you. I'll bring her to you. Just… Just breathe." Moira nodded at him encouragingly. "You have to breathe."

Oliver looked past her shoulder, confused and hazy. Felicity. He wanted Felicity. He needed her. Slowly, his teeth unclenched and he inhaled, hiccupping, coughing when air finally pulled into his lungs. But he breathed, he inhaled and exhaled, and turned his head up to stare at the ceiling.

"Felicity…" he murmured.

"That's right," his mother said quietly, stroking his cheek.

His eyes were heavy; they began to close and he struggled for a moment.

"It's okay," Moira whispered. "Go to sleep."

"Felicity."

"Shh…" She stroked her fingers back through his hair.

He drifted off, the world going black once more.

* * *

_"I wouldn't recommend doing that again…"_

_Oliver opened his eyes to find himself back in the den, his head resting in her lap._

_Felicity stroked her fingers through his hair, looking down at him, a brow raised. "You really scared her."_

_"I'm sure I've scared her a lot. Habit of mine." He leaned into her touch, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. "I missed you."_

_"You can't hold your breath until you pass out so you can see me… That's bordering on Bella Swan behaviour, you know?"_

_His brow furrowed. "Why do I know that?"_

_"Twilight. I made you watch it, remember?"_

_He frowned. "That shitty vampire movie?"_

_She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Yes, that one. But don't try to change the subject." She rubbed his forehead with her thumb. "You scared your mom…"_

_He sighed, turning his head so his face was pressed close to her stomach. "I don't want to go back."_

_"You can't stay here." She shook her head. "Oliver, look at me."_

_He turned his eyes up, looking lost and sad. "Please, don't make me go."_

_"A few more minutes," she allowed._

_He reached for her other hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the pad of every finger as he kept it close, bringing her palm up to his cheek as he gazed up at her._

_"I love you."_

_She smiled. "I know."_

* * *

It would be hours before he woke again, and this time the pressure on his hand was different. Smaller, softer, and somehow stronger than any other.

 _Thea_.

He blinked his eyes a few times before he turned his head to see her. Roy was in the background, asleep on a couch against a wall, his red hood pulled up over his head.

"Ollie?" she asked, standing from her chair. She reached for him, a hand on his shoulder. "Ollie, can you hear me?"

He stared up at her, her eyes ringed red and tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. He moved to lift his arm, but found it still restrained to the bed.

Without hesitation, she undid the buckle and loosened the strap for him, releasing his arm, taking his hand in hers and lifting it up to her face.

"It's Thea," she told him, searching his face. " _Speedy_."

He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear, and frowned.

"I… I heard about Felicity. I'm so sorry…" She blinked back tears. "I know… I  _know_  how much she mattered to you."

_Make me a happy story, Oliver._

He felt a stab to his heart and his expression tightened, his brow furrowed. "Thea," he murmured.

"I'm here, I'm here," she told him, squeezing his hand.

He shook his head. "She's gone," he breathed. "Felicity's gone."

"I know." Her breath hitched as a tear fell down her cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I need her." His teeth clenched as he sucked in a pained breath. "I can't... do this without her."

A sob bubbled out of her throat. "Please don't say that.  _Please_." She crumpled, dropping her head to his chest, hugging him, her arm looped around his shoulder. "Don't leave me, Ollie. Not again. Please…"

He cupped her head with his hand, his fingers threaded in her hair, but he didn't say anything. He stared at the ceiling, feeling her shake against him, struggling with her tears. He held her for what felt like minutes or hours, until he faded back out, and wondered if she would ever forgive him.

* * *

_"How's the wine?"_

_Felicity grinned, laid out on top of him, their legs tangled, her chin balanced on his chest. "_ Dreamy _."_

_Oliver's smile dipped and he reached for her, stroking her hair back. "None of it's real, is it?"_

_Her eyes fell to his chest and drew circles with her forefinger. "You are… How you feel is."_

_"But I don't get to have you like this… ever." He clenched his teeth, blinking back tears. "I lost you."_

_She raised her eyes then to meet his. "Yeah," she whispered. "You did."_

_A shuddering breath left his chest and he reached up to press a hand to his eyes. "I can't… Felicity, I_ can't _."_

_"Shh…" She rubbed his chest and climbed up him, burying her face in his neck. "I've got you. It's okay."_

_He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, pressing his face to her hair. "I need you back. I need you. Please…._ Please _…"_

* * *

Nobody called him.

It was early morning and John was getting ready to take the car out to pick Oliver up from his house when a breaking news report cut across the television just as he was pulling his jacket on. He didn't give it much thought; there was always something going wrong and he was sure the radio would fill him in on the way, if not Felicity's many warning texts before they all met up at QC. He could just imagine her, tablet in hand, eager to tell them the latest problem as soon as the elevator doors opened.

Briefly, he considered the possibility that he wouldn't have to wait until they were at QC. She and Oliver were getting closer, maybe he'd finally done what he'd been hesitant to for too long. If those two didn't get their heads on straight and get together soon, John was going to have to say something. He didn't want romance getting in the way of things, but considering he was currently enjoying happiness with Lyla, he couldn't deny the same to his two friends, especially when it was so obvious that there was no one who made them happier than each other.

Oliver had been dancing around his feelings from the word Go. And, much as John hadn't been sure about bringing Felicity into the fold at first, she certainly showed just how valuable she was. Their team wouldn't be half as effective without her, and neither would they as people. She was their heart, and he didn't know how much one was missing until she stepped in as resident genius and surrogate sister, at least to him. He was pretty sure the position she stepped into in Oliver's life wasn't sisterly at all, not if the way Oliver looked at her was anything to go by. It wouldn't be the first life or death situation to lead to marriage, but he thought it might be one of the few to weather the storm and come out the victor in the end. Or, so he hoped. If any two people deserved happiness, it was them.

"Johnny," Lyla called.

"Yeah, Ly, I promise I'll get the milk," he assured, rolling his eyes as he moved toward the door.

"No. John, the news…"

He walked back to the kitchen to see the small television she had set up to watch while she cooked.

 _"Sources say that Oliver Queen arrived at the hospital late last night, severely wounded after being brutally attacked in the Glades. One other victim has been identified as Felicity Smoak, Mr. Queen's executive assistant at Queen Consolidated. Queen reportedly carried Miss Smoak to the hospital after she suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the stomach._ " The reporter pressed a hand to her ear and nodded. " _I'm learning now that Oliver Queen has been deemed physically stable, but there has been concern about his mental state. Sources inside claim that Queen was visibly distraught over Miss Smoak's death and had to be heavily sedated in order for them to remove her and have doctors see to his condition… We'll have more for you as soon as we find anything out. I'm Leslie Gladrow—_ "

Lyla muted the television and turned to face him worriedly, but he stood, stock still, staring at the pictures that were still being shown. Felicity, smiling, with her hair drawn back in a ponytail.

 _A fatal gunshot wound to the stomach_.

_Fatal gunshot wound._

**_Fatal_ ** _._

"John?" Lyla asked quietly.

He dragged a hand down his face and felt it shake as it stilled over his mouth. "I have to go," he choked out.

" _John_ ," she called after him, but he was already walking out, leaving the apartment as quickly as he could.

He went downstairs, digging his keys from his pocket, and climbed into his car.

The drive to the hospital was a blur. There were news reporters all camped outside, eager to get a shot of a recognizable face. John bypassed them all and walked into the hospital, making his way to the front desk. He rattled off a reason he would be there, barely hearing his own words, and asked for the room number. After offering his identification, he was allowed through and pointed in the right direction. He slowed down when he found Thea in a chair in the hall, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and her chin balanced on her knees. Her eyes were ringed red and tear tracks could still be seen on her cheeks.

"Miss. Queen," he said, looking down at her.

It wouldn't be the first time the news got it wrong and his chest felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation.

She glanced up at him before wiping a hand over her cheek to swipe a fallen tear.

"Is he…?"

"He's alive," she said hollowly.

He could hear the 'but' hanging in the air and restrained from barking at her. He needed answers, but this girl, this family, didn't know him or his role in Oliver's life. He was just a driver, staff, someone who blended into the background until needed. He never felt that more than in that moment.

"They had to sedate him three, maybe four times… They brought him into surgery, but he woke up." Thea smiled sarcastically. "He woke up screaming for her and tried to fight them off…" She shook her head, letting out a little hiccup of a broken laugh. "That's all he ever does. He wakes up and he begs them to tell him where she is and then they have to tell him all over again. They have to tell him she's gone and he can't take it." Her shoulders started shaking. "I talked to him and he finally remembered, but… he wants to give up."

John's eyes fell shut as the truth hit him abruptly in the chest. "She's gone," he said, his voice thick.

Her head lifted abruptly, eyes wide. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't… You knew her, too. Of course you did."

His hands shook as he raised them to his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes to stave off the tears. "The news… It said she was shot." He looked down at her, restless and uncomfortable with the loss of control.

Thea nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, they… They were in the Glades, on their way to Verdant, I think. The police found her car; it hit a light pole or something. They think they were ambushed, that Oliver fought back but there were too many. They shot her, and they stabbed him, and then I… I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "They ran, I guess. And he… He carried her. He carried her all the way to the hospital, but… She died. She died in his arms and he… He still brought her here and they tried to help him but they were scared of him. They said he was…" She swallowed thickly. "He was wild and they weren't sure what he'd do, so they sedated him and they took her away."

John squeezed his fingers tightly into his palms, his knuckles protesting the pressure. "But he's he woken up? He'd lucid now?"

"He's woken up four times since he got out of surgery, mom talked to him before I did. The first two times it was… violent. They restrained him. They had to." She leaned back in her chair and wiped her face, sniffling. "The doctor wants to put him on psych watch."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "They should," he said.

Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "Did she matter that much?" she wondered, her voice cracking.

He met her gaze steadily, but before he could answer, the click-clack of heels interrupted, and Moira Queen's voice interrupted. " _You_ ," she said, her voice dripping with accusation. "Where  _were_ you?"

He turned to face her, his head held high. "Mrs. Queen, I—"

"You were hired to be his driver. He specifically picked you for the job, and I thought, with your background as a bodyguard, that this would keep him  _safe_. But exactly when you were supposed to be doing your job, you were  _where?_ Nowhere to be found!"

John gritted his teeth and met her cutting eyes, even as her words hammered into his chest with more truth than he could take. "With all due respect, Mrs. Queen, I'm not here in a professional capacity."

Her brows hiked. "Excuse me?"

"If you want to fire me, you can. But I'm not here to beg you to reconsider. I'm here because a very…" His voice caught. "A  _very_  good friend of mine  _died_ … and I know what she meant to your son."

Moira lifted her chin, her brow furrowed. She glanced away momentarily, at the door that led to Oliver's room, and then she asked, very softly, "What was she to him?"

John took a moment to reply, but said with all certainty, " _Everything_."

Moira's face fell, her eyes worried. "I wasn't aware that he was… seeing her, in that capacity."

"He wasn't." He shook his head. "Felicity was... She was special. Oliver trusted her. He… was in love with her, but I don't think he ever told her that."

Moira sighed, her eyes falling closed. "I think he did… It was just too late." When she looked back up at him, her ire had fled. "I apologize for what I said earlier. I was… I  _am_ very worried about my son."

He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, dredging up what little professionalism he had left in him. "Would it… be possible for me to see him?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "He might not wake up. He's been…. They've had to keep him sedated; he comes and goes. He hasn't been… coping well."

"I told him about the psych watch, mom," Thea piped up then. "He thinks it's a good idea."

Moira looked up at him sharply, her question clear.

John shifted his feet, sighing, before he looked between them. "Oliver has been struggling with things that happened on the island… Felicity helped him with that. She… anchored him." He shook his head. "I'm not sure how he'll handle her death, especially if he blames himself for it, and… he will."

"What you're suggesting is that you think my son might… hurt himself," Moira struggled to say, a hand reaching for her throat as her worry threatened to choke her.

"I'm saying the love of his life died in his arms… and I'm not sure he can recover from that."

A breath whooshed out of her at the finality of his voice and she turned to look at Thea, her brow furrowed.

"Mom…" Thea's voice was strained, her expression tight.

"Thank you, Mr. Diggle," Moira said, dismissing him as she moved to her daughter.

He nodded at her before moving toward the door leading into Oliver's room. He pushed it open and stepped inside, pausing as he set eyes on the broken man who seemed too large for the bed he laid in. A heart monitor was hooked up to him, his ankles and wrists restrained to the bed, a blue, hospital-issue blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, and, despite being asleep, looked more exhausted than John could ever remembered seeing him.

John reached for the clipboard with Oliver's most recent medical information on the front and read through it. Contusions on his knuckles consistent with a fight, a knife wound on his right side, five inches deep, severe blood loss… He read through what was done, what he was given to knock him out, and how often it had been administered in order to keep him sedated. How he broke through his restraints the first time…

"The juicy parts are a few pages in, when they get into what happened on the island," Oliver's gruff voice interrupted the quiet.

He looked up to find a tired Oliver staring at him, his eyes at half-mast, still a little hazy both from pain meds and the sedatives.

Oliver raised his arms to showcase the wrist restraints and smiled sardonically. "I bet you always thought we were headed here."

"In the beginning, maybe."

He let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. "You were always honest, Digg." He grinned, pointing at him. "I liked that about you."

"You don't have to put on the act, Oliver. There's no one around to see it," he told him quietly.

"What act?" His lips curled up at the corners, his hands spread open, palms up. "This is Oliver Queen, in all his broken glory… This is what tragedy looks like, Digg." His head fell back for a moment, his eyes roaming away from him. "You warned me. When I first brought her in. I didn't listen… I told you I could protect her."

"You did. You saved her, Oliver,  _repeatedly_."

His teeth were clenched as he sucked in a breath. "Not this time… Not when it counted."

John moved toward him, shaking his head. "What happened?"

"What always happens… They wanted revenge on Oliver Queen, so they took it. They ran us off the road and dragged us out of the car. They shot her and left her to die in the street. So I carried her. I carried her, but she couldn't hold on." He looked up and met John's eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. "She made me promise she'd be a happy story." Spittle flew from his lips as she choked on his words. "She made me promise we'd help each other." He shook his head. "And I lied… I  _lied_ , because there is no happy story if she dies." He sat forward, pulling at the restraints on his wrist. "The story is  _over_. This, all of this, it's just a nightmare. It's just one more spin in purgatory before I die, one more fight I lost, one more person to add to the tally."

John shook his head, but he couldn't speak, not with the way his throat tightened.

"I had her blood on my hands." He curled his fingers in until they bit into his palms. "I had her blood all over me. She died. She  _died_. I  _begged_ her not to go… I held her in that street and three people — _three_ — drove by and not one helped me." He shook his head. "I tried to save those people. I fought for them." He stabbed a hand toward the door, aimlessly gesturing at the Glades itself. "She helped me try to save them and they killed her." He bared his teeth in a snarl. "They  _took_ her from me."

"She wouldn't want this, Oliver."

"I know what she wants." He nodded, a tear trailing down his cheek and trembling on his chin. "She wants me to make it through this, but I won't. I  _can't_." He shook his head, physically shaking with his grief and rage. "I am  _done._ With all of it. Do you understand? I'm  _done!_ "

"Oliver—"

"If I pick that bow up again, it'll be to kill every single person that touched one hair on her head. Every single person who drove past us while I carried her, broken and bleeding, begging for someone to stop."

John ground his teeth together and shook his head faintly. "That's not what she stood for."

He laughed then, void of any semblance of joy. "She was the only good thing holding me together. And now I'll be exactly what Tommy always knew I was. A  _killer_." He fell back toward the bed, his face red with exertion and fury. A few seconds passed with nothing but his heavy breathing and then he focused on John again and his anger fled him. "They  _took_  her, Digg… They took her away from me, and now I have nothing."

He shook his head, blinking back his own tears. "I'm sorry… I wasn't there, and I'm sorry."

Oliver tipped his head, his brow furrowed, and then he smiled faintly. "She didn't blame you. She understood." His eyes fell to his lap. "She always understood."

"Yeah," John choked out. "Yeah, she did."

"I want you to promise me something," he said quietly.

John raised an eyebrow in askance.

"Keep them safe."

John stood a little taller then. "You're going to be around to do that yourself."

He smiled up at him. "We both know where this is headed."

"Oliver…" John shook his head. "I won't clean up your mess."

"Yeah, you will." He nodded knowingly. "You'll stop me before I get too out of control, and I'll let you. You'll bury me beside her because that's what I want. I want to be beside her. And when I'm gone, you'll wear the hood and you'll save the city. Because you're my friend, and a hero, and you're the only one left."

John's throat burned hollow as he turned away, unable to argue. He walked to the window and stared out at the Glades, a stab of anger swelling in his chest.

"Do you think she'll hate me?" Oliver wondered quietly as he rested his head against the pillows, sinking into them as his eyes began to close.

He walked back toward the hospital bed. "No…" John's voice cracked and it took him a second to get it back. "No, she could never hate you."

Tiredly, he smiled. "I loved her, Digg… I love her so much."

"I know." John watched as he slipped away. "I know you did."

John took a seat beside the bed and got comfortable.

Whatever happened, he would see it to the end, no matter how gruesome it got, no matter how much Oliver spiraled, and he would. He would tear the Glades apart, piece by piece, and find every single person that hurt her. He would destroy them unrepentantly, leaving bodies in his wake. And then he would limp home and crawl into his bed; he would ignore his mother's pleas to snap out of it, his sister's hand constantly trying to drag him back from the edge. He would run, full throttle, until his revenge was reached, and when it was all done, he would finally lay down arms and have his peace.

John was always sure it would end in blood and death, but he had hoped it wouldn't be them.

Hope died on a Tuesday night in the Glades; he wondered what her last words were.

{ **end**.}

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this written for ages, but I was never really sure I was happy with it. I'm sure part of it has to do with how much I don't like writing sequels to certain stories because I feel like it takes away from their impact, but I did want to explore Oliver's grief more. I had a few different versions I was going to explore, one of which involved Oliver being under psych watch and never really talking, seeming to be catatonic for the most part. But this happened instead and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but it's out there and it's done. So I hope you liked it in some way, or that it at least drew some kind of emotional response.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Please, leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
> 
> \- **Lee | Fina**


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